


Too Late: Frozen

by AbKhaos



Category: Type O Negative (Band)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Seduction, Tall dark stranger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24311011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbKhaos/pseuds/AbKhaos
Summary: December 1996, the streets of New York. Moira slams into Peter Steele, he helps her back on her feet and hot stuff ensues.(the actual real life events dates and tour dates can be innacurate)
Relationships: Peter Steele/OC
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	Too Late: Frozen

It was a Saturday night, I had just gotten out of work. One minute I was walking along Bleecker Street, and the next I was slamming hard into a wall that appeared out of nowhere, my bags and the crate I was holding scattered around on the sidewalk. I nearly lost my footing and grabbed the iron bars of the window on the building next to me.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!”

The wall talked.  
I looked up and stood there, taken aback. An extremely tall man was standing before me, all height and muscles and long, jet-black hair. He was extending his very large right hand toward my left shoulder, making sure I had regained my balance.

“Peter fucking Steele?” I exclaimed. “Are you kidding me?!”  
“Oh, you know me then.”

He looked kind of disappointed.

“Yes, of course! I was at the show.”

I started picking up my things and he stopped me.

“No no, let me,” he said as he squatted down. “I’m so sorry, I was caught in my own thoughts, I wasn’t looking.”  
“It’s alright,” I said with a smile.  
“So, what’s all this?” he asked while putting a pile of tupperware back into the wooden crate I was holding earlier.  
“That’s actually the leftover food from you guys backstage,” I said, “I’m taking it to a homeless shelter.”  
“Really?” he seemed to be thinking for a second, looking at the food and then at me. “Don’t you have a car or something?”  
“I do, but it’s stuck behind your tour bus,” I explained, laughing.  
“Well, it sounds like I’m just a big pain in your ass tonight.”

He laughed too and his laugh was loud and warm in the cold December night.

“The shelter is a few blocks away, so it’s really no big deal,” I reassured him.  
“Let me hold all this then, you lead the way.”  
“Are you sure? You probably have better things to do.”  
“I was going to get back to the bus and drink one or two more bottles of wine with the boys before heading home,” he said matter-of-factly, “So I think my time would be better spent helping you see your good deed to completion.”

With that he grabbed the two bags that were left on the sidewalk and started walking.

“You coming?” he looked behind his shoulder, a faint smile on his lips.

I was perplexed, but I went along.

“I would, but you’re going the wrong way!”

_________

We walked for ten or fifteen minutes in the cold streets of Manhattan.

“So, how come your car was stuck behind our bus?” he asked. “We made made it to the club at like 6pm, how long were you waiting in the cold?”  
“I wasn’t,” I said, laughing. “I work the bar there, and I do the catering too actually.”  
“Which means you’re the one responsible for my growling stomach?”  
“Oh my god I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, embarrassed. “Was it that bad? I couldn’t order from our usual guy, but-”  
“No no no,” he interrupted my apology. “I’m only kidding. It was very good, but I usually can’t eat anything before a show.”  
“Oh, alright, I said, relieved. Stress, is it?”  
“You could say that. More like debilitating anxiety.”  
“Hence the wine?”  
“Exactly,” he said. “So you work at the club and weren’t here for us at all.”  
“I kind of was,” I said. “I mean, I would have been here had any band been playing, but my boss let me go into the crowd for a few songs. I really love you guys.”  
“Did you enjoy the show?”  
“Very much. I really wanted to hear Too Late: Frozen live.”

A pause. He didn’t say anything.

“You seemed disappointed earlier, when I said I was at the show. Don’t you enjoy meeting fans?”  
“Oh no I do, but people have less expectations when you’re a complete stranger. It’s nice to be a blank slate, sometimes.”  
“I get that, must be exhausting. But look, we’re here.”

I gestured toward an old and kind of decrepit dark wooden door, and rang the bell. A joyous old black woman opened the door.

“Good evening, Moira, nice to see you!” she exclaimed. “And who do we got here?” she looked at Peter.  
“Hello, Jeanie. He’s just a friend, I said. He helped me carry the food.”  
“Well, we could surely use someone your size to do stuff around here. If you’re bored someday, you know where we are! You could keep me company too!” she added with a wink, laughing. “Anyway, you know where the fridge is,” she said, looking back at me. “I must return to my movie, good night, lovebirds!”

She disappeared at the end of the long corridor, and I led Peter to the left of the building, toward the kitchen.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “She’s really nice. She runs this place, but she sees all kinds of people, you know. So she has to tell it like it is. She’s not much of diplomat, but she’s the most honest person you’ll ever meet. Here,” I gestured toward the counter, “you can put all this here.”  
“It’s alright,” he said as I was loading up the fridge. “She did seem nice, and honest people are my prefered kind of people. Do you come here often? You know the place very well,” he added.  
“Every Saturday,” I said. “My boss always insists I get way too much food, says it makes us look good and brings more artists.” I shrugged. “I don’t see how, but I guess the people here get to enjoy it at least.”

I closed the fridge and looked at him, he was gazing at the street through the window.

“You must be getting bored,” I said apologetically. “Well, thank you for helping me, I should let you go back to your evening.”  
“I’m not bored,” he assured me, “just lost in my thoughts again, I’m sorry. It was the least I could do, after practically shoving you into traffic.”

The faint smile was back on his lips.

“Should we go out and eat something?” he asked. “I’m so hungry I might pass out in this very kitchen. Not that I don’t like the yellow tile and yellow walls and yellow counters, but I’d rather be eating.”

I laughed.

“Nice to meet you by the way, Moira. That's a beautiful name.”  
“Thank you. It does sound good when you say it.”

And it did, it rolled on his tongue like a wave and I thought I'd very much like to hear him say it again.

“Do you like Italian?” I asked, getting back to the matter at hand. “I know a place just down the block who does a mean lasagna, it’s late but they should still be open.”  
“You had me at Italian. Let’s go.”

He held the large front door of the shelter for me and our eyes locked. For a few seconds, I got lost inside the liquid green, before stepping back into the cold. I shivered and he seemed concerned but said nothing. The walk to the restaurant was very short, and within minutes we were sitting at the back of the warm room which smelled of olive oil and oregano, a fuming dish of delicious lasagna before us. He let me dig in first and put all the rest in his plate.

“That’s fucking delicious!” he exclaimed. “You don’t know how good it feels after eating disgusting tour food for six weeks.”  
“I told you!” I laughed. “Must be hell, I couldn’t do it. I like my gourmet food at every meal,” I joked.  
“It IS hell,” he said. 

After clearing out most of his plate, he asked: 

“So, what do you do when you don’t work at the club?”  
“I work at CBGB’s Wednesdays through Saturdays. Otherwise I go to college, I’m still a student but I do tutoring too.”  
“What do you study?” he asked.  
“History,” I said. “European medieval history, but I tutor for English majors too.”  
“So like, Vikings and stuff?”  
“Among other things, my field of study is a bit later than that.”  
“Hm, are you going to finish that?” he asked, distracted.  
“What? Oh no, you go ahead.”

I gave him the rest of my food which he inhaled in a few minutes.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were hungry,” I laughed.  
“I never joke about food.” He smiled at me. 

Again, this warm smile that infected his eyes, melting them. He took out the elastic tie that was holding his hair while he was eating, and a faint scent of musk floated toward me. He stretched, and I could see the shape of his nipples through the fabric of his khaki green shirt. He caught my gaze, and held it, his mouth just slightly open.

“Like what you see?” he asked, amused.  
“Very much so,” I said. 

He seemed a bit taken aback by my forwardness.

“You say that to every guy that plays at your club?”  
“You prick!” I said, laughing. “Only the ones that take me out to eat,” I added jokingly.  
“A woman after my own heart!”

He paused to think for a bit, looking at me intently.

“Should we go somewhere for a drink?” he asked.  
“Hm…” I hesitated. “My flat is two minutes from here, I have some booze in the fridge.”  
“You sure it’s no trouble?”  
“None at all, let’s go.”

He insisted on paying for the meal, and then I led him once again through the streets of New York that were getting colder and colder as the night went on. As we walked, I felt his hand sometimes lingering behind my back, almost touching it but not quite. I wondered if he could smell the scent of my perfume as I could smell his. He was at once intimidating and reassuring, a force of nature following me in the light of the street lamps.  
A few flakes of snow were hanging in the air, but not enough to cover the ground. I held my long black coat tightly around me. We didn’t talk for the few minutes it took for us to get to my front door on the 6th floor. I opened it, let him get inside and lit the room. Peter gasped.

“Well, they must be paying you an awful lot at the club.”

I had been expecting some kind of reaction. My place was quite spacious for a New York flat.

“They don’t actually, it’s my aunt’s place. She lets me stay here, my aunt and uncle aren’t around much.”  
“Oh, okay. Well, it’s very nice.”

He seemed kind of out of place. If anyone had told me that I would be sharing a beer with Peter Steele of Type O fucking Negative at my own flat tonight, I would have laughed so hard. But here we were, and he was sitting on one of the bar stools of my kitchen while I was rummaging in the fridge for drinks. 

“To beautiful women who know the importance of a good meal!” he said and we clanked our bottles.

I took a chopstick out of a drawer and put my hair up in a bun. I had dyed it a dark forest green three weeks ago, it seemed kind of silly now that I was sitting with Peter, green being the denominated colour of his band. 

“That’s a nice hair color.”  
“Thank you.” I blushed, and felt like I had to add some kind of justification. “I didn’t do it for you guys, if that’s what you’re wondering.”  
“I wouldn’t dream of it, we’re just a bunch of hippies.” 

He laughed, but didn’t stop observing me. 

“You have a beautiful neck,” he said, his eyes hungrily following the curve of my jaw to my collarbone. 

I held his gaze. There was a moment of silence, and I was nervously biting my lip.

“So, you live here alone?” he asked.  
“I do,” I said. “I have a younger brother, but he… let’s say the city wasn’t doing him any good, so he went up north to live with my aunt and uncle.”  
“What about your parents?”  
“They… My father left after my mom died in a car accident 4 years ago.”  
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should know better than asking about parents.”

I looked anxiously at him, not sure of how much I should say. Then kept going.

“He started doing drugs, getting into weird shit. He had to disappear because he owed money to some people, not the kind of people that you want to be involved with, you know. The bank took our house, but it wasn’t safe for us there anymore anyway. Especially my brother, he was diagnosed with autism as a little kid. He was doing ok but then my mom had that accident, that shattered him... and then my dad bringing all kinds of weird people into our lives... I called my aunt one morning and we came here. She and my uncle were about to move up north, my brother was miserable and he asked if he could go with them. He’s almost finished high school now and he wants to learn carpentry. He loves the country, he’s so much happier now.”

I smiled as I always did when I was thinking about him. 

“I mean who wouldn’t?” I added. “I go there every Christmas, it’s really beautiful. They live by a lake, and there’s so many trees there. I really want to live somewhere like this one day, you know, only the quiet and nature around me. Anyway, I was just starting college when all this happened and I love what I do, so I stayed here.”  
“That’s… he started.”  
“I’m sorry, I… I don’t usually tell my whole life story to strangers. You’re just really easy to talk to.”  
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”  
“Sorry again, now I must really have bored you to death.”  
“You haven’t,” he reassured me. “I like listening to you. And you have quite the life story.”  
“Haha, yeah.”

I opened one more beer for each of us.

“So, what about your job?” he asked. “I mean, I know what touring life is like and it can be fucking terrible, but for you it must be exciting, meeting new people every night.”  
“It is, I guess. I mean I really love it, especially when I get to exploit unsuspecting bassists to carry stuff for me in the dead of night.”

I smiled at him playfully and he raised his beer to me before taking a sip.

“I love the scene around here, and the music every night, it’s great. It can be exhausting, and I guess I wouldn’t do it my whole life, but for now I couldn’t ask for more.”  
“It does sound great from your point of view.”  
“Do you hate touring that much?” I asked.  
“I guess I don’t hate it, I’m just tired and fed up with it after six weeks of the same thing, you know…”  
“I can imagine.”  
“...but tonight the stars aligned and I ended up here,” he added with a smile, and again observing me with that intense stare.  
“Oh, was it celestial luck?”  
“What else could it be?”

He paused, and seemed to hesitate. 

“I don’t know how I would be sharing a drink with such a beautiful, interesting, and so damn sexy woman otherwise.”

I bit my lip. He got up and stood in front of me. I was sitting on the counter, and I opened my legs so he could set himself between them. He raised one of his giant hands and started caressing the side of my jaw. He was looking at me with such hunger that it lit the fire that had been simmering within me. He touched my bottom lip with his thumb while his other hand kept exploring my body. His touch was so gentle, almost a breeze on my skin. But everywhere he touched me was like a blazing trail, each nerve imploding with the sensation. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said.

Then he held my face and kissed me, and I couldn’t help but moan. His touch had been gentle, but his kiss was hungry and pressing, demanding, begging for more. My fingers were tracing the muscles of his back, then as his touch grew more urgent, he slid his hand beneath my top and cupped my right breast, playing with my nipple and the piercing that went through it, and it felt so, so fucking good. He was attacking my neck, lightly biting, then licking the skin behind my ear and another moan escaped me.

“You like that?” Peter said, smiling against my skin.

He inhaled the scent of my hair, let out a low growl, slid his other hand beneath my top and began undressing me. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said again, licking his bottom lip and staring at my naked chest.

Then his hands went to my waist, my hips, and finally he cupped my ass and squeezed.

“I want you so bad,” he breathed directly into my ear.  
“Ohh, fuck…”

I was mad with lust, and he was everywhere, surrounding me, overwhelming my every senses. With one hand he lifted me up an inch off the counter, and with the other he slid my pants down my legs and let them pool on the floor. I went to remove my boots but he stopped me.

“Leave them on,” he said. “A woman in heels, it does stuff to me.”

And with that he kissed my ankle, my calf, the side of my knee and the inside of my thigh. By that point I had almost forgotten my name, a whimpering and trembling mess beneath his touch. He grabbed the black lacy thong I was wearing, the last thing between him and ecstasy, and he slid it down until it joined my pants on the floor.  
He kept on kissing my thighs, his long hair brushing against them lightly, and his warm breath was sending shoots of desire up my spine. I felt it linger on my pussy, but he wasn’t touching it yet, instead working on driving me insane.  
He leveled with my face and kissed me again, pressing his body against me, his left hand on the small of my back, and his right hand inching towards the lips between my legs.

“This what you want?” he asked, his voice lower than ever.  
“I… yes, yes, I stammered. Touch me... please…”

I wasn’t one for begging, but I would if he kept me waiting any longer. But finally - fucking finally! - he put his thumb in his mouth, wetting it with saliva, and then put it directly on my clit and started massaging it softly.  
I couldn’t keep the moans from escaping my mouth.

“Yes! That feels so good, oh… fuck… Peter…”  
“Yeah? Like that?”

As he was masturbating me, he was watching me. I thought he couldn’t look more hungry, but he did. He looked ready to bite. His eyes were going from my eyes to my lips, devouring me with his stare. He put one finger inside of me, then two. I had never been this wet and ready to be fucked in my whole life. But he was far from done with me.  
He lowered himself again, and then his mouth was all over my pussy. Kissing it, licking it, sucking on my lips. With his fingers, he tapped lightly on my clit. He put his tongue inside me, then out, and licked almost down to my ass, but not quite. It was fucking exquisite, and his mouth worked like a machine, only taking breaks to blow gently on my clit, before swallowing it again. I felt lust boiling inside me.

“I… I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum…”  
“Good,” he said. “Come for me baby, I wanna make you feel so good…”

He put his fingers back inside me and curled them slightly, and he kept licking my clit, never breaking his rhythm. The orgasm washed over me in waves, stronger and stronger, and I felt my vagina clenching around his fingers. I laced my fingers through his hair and held his head down while the pleasure was shaking me to my core. As the orgasm trickled down, I slowly became more aware of his touch. I put my hand under his chin and lifted it up slightly, indicating that it was getting too much. He left a trail of light kisses on my pussy and got up.

“How was that?” he asked with a smile.  
“Fucking incredible.” I answered, not fully back to my senses yet.

He laughed, and put his arms around me, hugging me tightly. I could hear his breath getting steadier.

“I really, really want to fuck you,” he whispered in my ear. “But I don’t have condoms and I’m pretty sure you don’t have any my size.”

I laughed.

“How fucking big are you?” I asked.  
“You’re telling me you haven’t seen the magazine*? Even my mother saw it.”  
“No, actually, my friend was going to show me but I haven’t seen her yet.”  
“Well, I’m pretty big,” he said, smirking.  
“Can’t wait to see that,” I said, locking my eyes with his.  
“Think you can handle it?” he asked, his hands still trailing along my neck and between my breasts.  
“Pretty sure,” I said, and I kissed him.  
“That’s a date, then,” he said. “Next time I decide where we eat, he added.”

**Author's Note:**

> *"the magazine" aka the August 1995 issue of Playgirl where Peter Steele can be seen in all his naked glory.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, please leave a comment with your thoughts! English is not my first language and I struggled a bit with dialogue formating, I apologize for any mistakes. It's also my first time writing smut (yep, at 26) or any kind of fanfiction so feedback is really appreciated. ♥


End file.
